


The Choice She Didn’t Have

by Aikori_Ichijouji, AkisMusicBox



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Bar Room Brawl, Bickering, Canon-Typical Violence, Investigating a String of Deaths, M/M, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, The Last Wish reference, The Skellige Isles (The Witcher), The violence described took place in the past, lots of bickering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:22:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28838484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aikori_Ichijouji/pseuds/Aikori_Ichijouji, https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkisMusicBox/pseuds/AkisMusicBox
Summary: Geralt investigates a series of mysterious deaths plaguing Skellige. He'd make a lot more progress if Yennefer and Jaskier would stop arguing for a damn minute.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 3
Kudos: 64





	1. The Forsaken

Geralt had a shortlist of people in his life that he considered dear to him. Yes, his fellow witchers were his family and that came with equal amounts of support and strife. He was bound by fate to a babe, if destiny were to be believed, but he’d seen hide nor hair of the little one. If destiny were kind, the child would be safe and happy with their mother and father for the rest of their days and have no need of him. However, he didn’t choose them, and he did believe that choice counted for quite a lot. If he were to list just those he chose, the list tightened up. And, if he were to go a step further, to list who may appear in fever dreams or dying breaths, it was nearly restrictive. But he could deal with that tightness, despite how much trouble they brought with them. And trouble multiplied exponentially when they were present simultaneously.

Like they were at the tavern in Arinbjorn. At their table, Jaskier leaned over to Yennefer and said, “One thing’s clear, we’re not going to learn anything if the guests of this tavern stay as jovial as they are now. I believe a ruckus is in order.” His hands and lips were chapped from the chilly, dry air of Skellige, which he spent plenty of time of whining about as they sailed to the island. However, once his boots hit the soil, he’d been nothing but a ball of wonder and energy, even when they found that Yennefer had been summoned as well.

“You’re rather seasoned at causing them. Simply make a pass at the wrong woman or a man with insecurities.” A smirk played at Yennefer’s mouth, as it was obvious she was merely a pot harping at a kettle. She had her own brand of starting a scuffle, and Geralt and Jaskier both knew it. Rosy cheeks were the only sign of the environment affecting her preternaturally-enhanced beauty.

Jaskier merely waved a hand. “I don’t think it’d be effective. Any Skelliger here wouldn’t bat an eye at punching me in the gut and moving on. This is not a one-man mission.” He ran a finger along the rim of his mug and looked at her sideways. “However…”

Geralt exhaled audibly. The two of them being of one mind, working together on a contract worried him. The fact that Crach an Craite had called for him and Yennefer, without disclosing that knowledge to either of them prior, also concerned him. The fact that Jaskier was present when Geralt received the messenger and barnacled himself to Geralt, whining about never having been to the islands and that his craft would now suffer if he were denied to see it, threw fuel on his trepidation. 

And one of them starting a bar fight, again, would be throwing a torch on the mess inside of him.

Yennefer, naturally, ignored Geralt’s modest warning. “I’m not opposed to contributing to the manner, but I believe we need a creative direction first. Some guidelines to work within.”

“This is not how you work an investigation,” Geralt retorted. “Plus, any blood spilled in here would conflict with any scents I may have missed the first time around.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes. “People are _dying_ , Geralt. Ten so far across Ard Skellig in the same method in increasingly disturbing and elaborate ways. Expediency is of the utmost importance and getting to bludgeon Jaskier of his own requesting seems the best option.”

Geralt had to admit he was impressed at how smoothly Jaskier let the barb slide off him. Somewhere along the way, he’d learned that letting Yennefer get to him served no one except her. He was almost proud. He’d be more proud if they weren’t actively trying to incite a riot.

“By the by,” Jaskier paused. “Isn’t the current mood a bit odd considering the number of deaths on Ard Skellig alone, not to mention the other islands?”

“Skelligers are no strangers to death,” Geralt offered with a shrug. “It’s regarded differently here.”

“Yes, I know death in battle is treated as noble and worthy of celebration, Geralt, I have read a book or two in my time,” Jaskier bristled. “I’m talking about accidental deaths. Mysterious deaths.”

“He has a point,” Yennefer chimed in. “Considering one of the victims was from this very village, shouldn’t people at least be more wary and reserved?”

Geralt hummed into his drink for a thoughtful moment. They presented a valid case, much to his chagrin. It would follow that the only time the two of them agreed on anything would be when it was in direct opposition to Geralt’s wishes. Against his better judgment, he nodded.

“Don’t make a mess you’re not willing to help clean up,” he warned and Yennefer clapped her hands with delight.

“Splendid! Jaskier, any thoughts as to the underlying theme for our ruse?”

Jaskier tapped his chin and pondered her question before nodding in agreement with whatever idea he’d conjured in his head. “The forsaken lover act is always a tried and true method,” he proposed. “Plus, the two of us are comely enough that we’ll be able to garner enough people on both sides of the argument.”

“Who do you suppose would be the forsaken?” Yennefer asked with a smile that was simultaneously sly and impressed. “Should we flip a coin to decide?”

“And have you magically tamper with it so that it lands in your favor?” Jaskier snorted. “You and Geralt may have more than half a century on me, but I wasn’t born yesterday.”

Geralt felt Yennefer’s hackles raise at Jaskier’s comment and shook his head. He never understood why the two of them resorted to making snide comments about the other’s age. What he did understand was that Jaskier was definitely about to have a brawl on his hands one way or another if he kept playing with fire. The irony was not lost on him that, of the three of them, it wasn’t the witcher who actively sought out danger in this instance.

“Geralt, perhaps you’d like to settle the debate?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt shook his head vehemently. “Saving my energy for whatever mayhem you two end up creating. Figure it out yourselves.”

“Fine,” Jaskier sighed. “Yen, you’re the delicate flower. You can play the victim.”

“I think you’ve got it backwards, _buttercup_ ,” Yennefer growled through clenched teeth. “I am an ageless, and very powerful, mage. You’d do well to remember that.”

“Everyone’s a critic,” Jaskier mumbled, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “I thought maybe you’d want to be the sympathetic character for once but, as usual, I am overruled.”

Yennefer scowled. “I don’t need, or want, anyone’s sympathy.”

“Yes, yes, all right,” Jaskier placated her with a hand. “At the very least, this won’t be much of a stretch of the imagination for either of us. Let’s get this over with.”

Geralt sincerely wanted a moment to consider that statement. Since when has Jaskier ever been anything other than an instigator of trouble for both himself and others? If anything, they were both equally unsuitable for the role. Unfortunately, Geralt realized he’d run out of time to mull anything over when a feral grin stretched Yennefer’s lips.

“Do your worst, bard.”

Jaskier’s expression dropped and he slumped in his seat. His eyes grew distant and he started staring at the grains in the tabletop, pondering, searching for something. He blinked, once, twice, and his eyes grew dewey. He looked up at Yennefer in despair. “I don’t understand, Yenna. I… I don’t believe you.” His voice had a low, hollow quality Geralt had only heard in the most melancholic of the songs in his repertoire. 

Yennefer tensed; she _hated_ that nickname. “What is so difficult to believe?”

Jaskier’s lips became a thin line. His breaths, labored. “You’re not that kind of person,” he said, louder, but still low, as if he were trying to tell all the tables in the tavern, not the patrons. “You’re good, you’re kind, I wouldn’t have been with you if you were —”

Yennefer’s posture straightened. Her eyes grew cold. “You’re a fool. A boy consumed with fairy tales.”

Jaskier started shaking his head and Geralt wished desperately to leave the tavern. They were too _good_ at this kind of nonsense for his liking. Jaskier shoved himself up from the table, still staring at it, but his movements became more animated. “No, no, no,” Jaskier begged. “No, I gave you everything. I gave you my heart. I gave you the best years of my life. I gave you my vir—”

“Stop,” Yennefer urged, rolling her eyes. “Is this truly the place you wish to discard your dignity all together?”

Jaskier’s hands balled into white-knuckled fists. “Enough!” His voice grated off the walls that the Skelligers could recognize in an instant. The tavern quieted as eyes migrated to the scene. It was already raising Geralt’s hackles, but Jaskier had to keep talking. “You told me that you were pregnant. I abandoned _everything_ on the Continent to find us a safe haven to raise our child.” His eyes, bloodshot and streaked with tears, found hers. “Tell me, once and for all, is that true? Are you bearing my child or not?”

The hairs on the back of Geralt’s neck prickled as some of the men of the tavern watched, transfixed. They grumbled incoherent affirmations that this question was desperately important.

Yennefer rose as well, tall, hard, cold. Her eyes narrowed in contempt. “Look at you, weeping over a slight. Why would I _want_ to be saddled with a babe from such weak stock?”

Jaskier was shaking at the same moment the other half of the tavern started murmuring as well. “Are you… what are you saying?”

Yennefer crossed her arms and shot Jaskier a look Geralt was all too familiar with — the one that asked exactly how thick you were and if you’d always been that way. “Was,” Yennefer said. “Not anymore.”

The cry that escaped Jaskier’s chest ripped through the thin veneer of civility that was draped over the taverns. Sirens, maids, grieving husbands, none could compete with the anguish that escaped the bard. Then, the grief morphed. His eyes locked on Yennefer as his arm tensed, retracting. He hurtled himself at her, and in an instant, Geralt was between them, grabbing Jaskier’s wrist. To Jaskier’s credit, he strained against Geralt’s grip as valiantly as he could, tears threatening to spill.

Nigh every bench in the hall scraped to life at the commotion, each present having a strong opinion on the matter. The closest approached, the smell of their sweat and ale enclosing Geralt. He’d have given anything to sweep the two of them up and leave this place immediately.

“Typical,” Yennefer hissed. “Coward.”

Jaskier tried to wrench himself free of Geralt’s grasp only for Geralt to pull him in close enough to feel Jaskier’s breath on his skin. Jaskier winked. He wrenched his head backward.

Then, hell broke loose.

Fur was literally flying in the tavern, mostly thanks to the typical cold weather wear of the Skelligan natives. Jaskier was ripped from Geralt’s grasp by unseen hands and dragged into the middle of the fray despite his protests—which sounded as if he was far too pleased with himself. Insults were thrown about as frequently as fists, the loudest of which were screamed by Yennefer from where she writhed against the restraining arms of two women.

At some point, even Geralt became the object of their derision once the mob realized he’d accompanied the pair when they first entered the tavern. That was nothing new to him. Witchers put up with worse depending on the moods of the townspeople. The new bit was the fact that he unwittingly became the third party in a completely fabricated cuckold drama.

Geralt had not signed up for any of that.

He was about to slip outside and leave his companions to their own devices, but he stopped when he noticed the pleading cries of someone trying to be heard over the din. It sounded as if they were trying to warn everyone and that piqued his curiosity. What kind of warning was so important that it was worth getting an elbow to the nose? There was only one way to find out.

Skelligers are a nation of raiders first and brawlers second, it seemed. Geralt couldn’t subdue anyone with just a well-placed fist to the gut. Usually he would rein in the force of his punches when it came to humans, his enhanced strength often being the deciding factor between a mere bruise and a broken bone. This time, however, he had to go all out.

Concerned by this, he sought out Jaskier while driving an elbow into another man’s sternum. He spotted the bard crouched under a table, snarling and scratching at the hands that tried to pull him out and decided he would be fine for the time being. Geralt knocked a burly man’s head into a nearby support beam and continued on his path to finding the origin of the voice he noticed earlier.

It was the tavern owner, a gangly man with tawny curls. He’d ducked behind the counter once he realized no one heeded his warnings. At the sight of Geralt approaching, he curled protectively in on himself, cupping one hand over his nose until the witcher squatted beside him, keeping his hands to himself.

“Are you hurt?” he asked. A pair of hands reached over the top of the counter and Geralt pounded the knuckles with a fist until they disappeared.

“P-please, you’ve got to make ‘em stop,” the man begged. “You have to or it’ll happen again.”

“What will happen?”

“Th-they say it’s a curse what’s taken the folk ‘round here,” he explained. “A wandering druid was here not long ago. Said the rampant brutality in the land was upsettin’ Freya, he did. And, if we didn’t stop, the sea would swallow all of Skellige whole.”

Geralt’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded in understanding. Standing up, he looked across the tavern until he caught Yennefer’s eye and made a slicing motion in front of his neck with one hand. Yennefer let her body go limp in the arms of the women who still had her pinned to the back wall. He saw her lips moving and, within moments, everyone was unconscious save for her, Geralt, Jaskier, and the tavern owner.

At the sudden prevalence of silence, Jaskier crawled out from under his table to look around. It wasn’t his disheveled hair, ripped clothing, or the purpling bruise around one eye that caused Geralt to push out an exasperated sigh; it was the smirk of triumph at his own chaotic handiwork. Geralt shook his head and held out a hand to the tavern owner, helping him stand. After confirming his patrons were merely knocked out and not dead, he thanked the witcher for his help.

Geralt just nodded again. “Now, what can you tell me about this druid?”


	2. The White Cat

Crach an Craite had provided Yennefer a warhorse, Night Fury, for her convenience travelling around the isle. He was a stallion as black as midnight and a mane smooth as silk. Geralt had naturally brought Roach with him, so Crach didn’t have another horse prepared for their unexpectedly larger party. The mare that would have been the right temperament had been put out to pasture to be bred. Though, due to the hilly and tree-covered roads that lie ahead of them early the next morning, Jaskier being on foot didn’t slow their progress too much.

“I thought you helped him with that last night,” Geralt said to Yennefer, pointing at Jaskier’s swollen eye, only able to open halfway. 

Yennefer glanced down to the bard, then back to the road. “I did. Nothing was broken or bleeding, which, to my recollection is a marked improvement for him. The swelling will subside in time.”

Geralt sighed and rummaged through his saddle bag. “But he needn’t be half blind.” He offered Jaskier a small pot. “Be sparing with it. Stings a bit.”

Surprised, Jaskier said, “Why, thank you Geralt!” He popped open the lid to the innocuous-looking, pearlescent cream. He looked over to Yennefer. “See? Geralt understands how to leverage my assistance well. And indeed, part of that requires maintaining boyish good looks.” He hissed as he swiped a dab of the cream under his eye. “Oh, you weren’t jesting.”

“Fair,” Yennefer sighed. “Some people will never be suited to the scars and a broken nose of a man.”

Jaskier bit back a curse as he moved up to his eyebrow. “Broken nose, eh? Now I understand you and Crach.”

Geralt’s hands tightened on the reigns. 

“Ancient history,” Yennefer said with a warning in her tone.

Jaskier gave a look up and down the warhorse. “Looks like he fancies himself an archaeologist.”

“ _Enough,”_ Geralt growled, then pointed tents collected around a cave in the cliffside. “We’ve arrived. Save your sniping for when we have a tangible lead.”

“Yes, mother,” Yennefer said as she dismounted as easily as she slipped out of a nightgown. 

As she and Geralt tied their horses to a tree, Jaskier prodded at his cheek and sighed. “Sweet Melitele it feels better already.” 

Geralt went to him and examined the injury. He took Jaskier’s chin as if to hold him steady, but Jaskier wasn’t trying to shy away. The swelling had already reduced by half, and the dark blue that had covered his eyelid was fading. His lips were still chapped and Geralt contemplated telling him there was a solution for that as well, but Yennefer’s patience was not something else he wanted to worry about. “They worship Freya here. Careful with who you praise here or your eyes will match.”

“Right,” he said, then, as if testing it out, winked. “Best behavior, father, promise.” Then, he turned and joined Yennefer, who was already approaching the gathering of druids around the fire as if she had an appointment to speak to the hierophant himself.

“Fuck.” Geralt hastened to catch up with her. She was already garnering looks from the men, clad in deep red, dark green, and animal skin robes. “Pardon us,” Geralt said before Yennefer could say anything to the contrary. “We’ve been sent by Crach an Craite to investigate the string of mysterious deaths. We were told that one of you believes it to be the wrath of Freya herself?”

The druids turned to the hierophant, and the older man with a flock full of crow’s feet and a head of antlers on his hat contemplated them for a moment from his seat on the mat near the fire. “A witcher, a sorceress, and a… bard?” He shook his head, then rose. “I suppose if anyone is to prove that it is indeed Freya herself, it must come from a monster hunter and one who deals in deceit.”

To Yennefer’s credit, she only crossed her arms. “What proof do you have that it is her? What have you or your men witnessed?”

The hierophant shook his head. “Not men.” He gestured toward one of the tents and a druid entered to return with a young girl, not yet flowered, with red hair that threatened to catch fair to the roughspun she was clad in. “Anja. She’s been blessed by Freya herself. We intend to send her to Hinder but the roads have been too treacherous to risk this gift.”

“What have you seen, Anja?” Geralt asked.

Balling her hands into fists, she said, “Freya herself, in the form of a bright white cat has come to bring justice. Taller than you, White Wolf, for I can tell it is you, and big enough to crush your head in a single paw.”

“That must have been an awe-inspiring sight,” Jaskier said. “Forgive me, Anja, but I am a bard in search of truth and beauty. Did she perhaps leave you some of her fur? Or tracks?”

Anja cocked her head at Jaskier. “There are indeed tracks, but they don’t lead far. Merely a sign of her presence for the doubtful.” Her eyes flickered to the hierophant for a moment before going back to Geralt and Yennefer. “South side of the river. There’s a steep drop that soon follows, where Freya took flight after she transformed.” 

Geralt nodded. “Thank you. Farewell for now.”

The tracks were right where Anja described and, indeed, they were both giant and feline in nature. Geralt crouched to get a better look at the impressions in the mud and grass near the cliffside. The tracks led to the edge of the cliff before vanishing, just as they’d been told. He could still smell traces of the girl when she’d been there earlier, the scent of pine, linen, and fur still hung in the air. But the scent of the beast, or whatever had left those tracks, was nowhere to be found.

He stood and looked to where Yennefer was beside Jaskier and the horses. The two of them were continuing their seemingly never-ending exchange of short, cutting remarks. Geralt cleared his throat loudly and waited for them to acknowledge him.

“Do you feel anything?” he asked Yennefer, who only shook her head.

“I don’t feel anything either, Geralt,” Jaskier piped up. “Thanks for asking, by the way.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and sighed. Crouching again, he looked again at the prints to see if he missed anything. The sound of footsteps and an approaching shadow told him Jaskier was standing behind him. He groaned.

“There’s nothing here,” Geralt said in hopes of sending the bard away so he could concentrate. “Nothing helpful anyway.”

Jaskier hummed, but didn’t move. “I can see that.”

Geralt sighed again and continued his examination.

“The girl said it was a white cat, correct?” Jaskier asked in a hesitant voice.

“So you were paying attention,” Geralt deadpanned. “Would you like a medal?”

He heard Jaskier’s impatient breath but didn’t bother to look up.

“Despite having eyes like one, it’s obvious you haven’t spent much time around cats,” Jaskier, muttered under his breath, sounding frustrated. Good, that made two of them.

“If you’ve nothing constructive to contribute, perhaps you’re better off back with the horses,” he snapped.

“He still hasn’t noticed you’ve given him a clue, has he?” Yennefer’s smooth voice interjected from where she now stood across from Jaskier.

“What clue?” he finally asked, slowly, careful to round out as many of the sharp edges of it as he could.

“Fur, Geralt.” Jaskier crossed his arms, his pout transitioning into a scowl that could almost rival one of his own. “Namely, the fact that there isn’t any.”

Geralt’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth, ready with a rebuttal but all that came out was a curse. Much to his consternation, Jaskier was right. It was something he should have spotted right away. Details like that were the sort of thing he needed to properly assess a situation and he’d missed it. Either he was losing his touch or Jaskier was actually learning and adapting.

He wasn’t sure which of those arguments he preferred to concede.

Regardless, he now had a very definitive piece of information with which to work. He started putting the pieces together in his mind. Anja’s account, the mysterious tracks that carried neither scent nor fur, and Yennefer’s confirmation that no traces of magic lingered in the area. The pieces began to come together, giving him a general picture of a being capable of polymorphism.

There was a fairly short list of entities that could successfully polymorph. Mages were summarily removed from that list due to the aforementioned evidence. That left behind much rarer creatures; golden dragons, higher vampires, and dopplers. All three used polymorphism as a way to assimilate into human society, usually peacefully. All three were varying degrees of endangered species that Geralt wouldn’t—or couldn’t—kill.

He hoped it wouldn’t have to come to that. If the creature that was going about masquerading as Freya was also responsible for the recent deaths on Ard Skellig, it might. But it was also warning people of the consequences of their actions, which didn’t exactly fit the mold of wanton killer. Perhaps it was some odd brand of vigilante justice?

Either way, it meant Geralt would have to look further into the recent deaths. Which meant talking to a lot more people while trying to keep Yennefer and Jaskier in check. Wonderful. Nothing was ever easy in his line of work.

And when it rained, it poured.

* * *

The first death could have merely been written off as a drunk whose liver had given out as they slept face down in the middle of the village. Between the rain and the cold, an old and cantankerous man like that was bound to keel over eventually, the reports claimed. However, when the body was taken indoors and it began — no, continued to, as his clothes indicated upon closer examination — weeping blood, it sent a chill through the village.

The second body was hanging from a meat hook at the butcher’s, suspended by his robes. There were no lacerations, no sign of crushing or bruising (that were recent enough to kill, that is), not a single external thing to indicate that the man was at all unwell… besides weeping blood.

The third, and forth, and so on, were found in more elaborate and terrifying positions, but all were found with blood escaping them as if they were a squeezed sponge. Geralt had been tempted to call it some sort of toxin at first, but as the messenger explained how the bodies had been found, it became irrefutable there was some sort of intention behind it. And the victims’ checkered pasts all but guaranteed it.

But divining that intention without a clearer picture would prove impossible with those two in tow.

They were leaving Sund after questioning the inhabitants about their victim (bound to a bed, prick cut off), which proved to be somewhat fortunate considering the village’s lack of sympathy for said victim. Most had heard one rumor or another about the suspicious deaths of his three wives, with a midwife directly calling him a wife beater. It meant that Yennefer’s and Jaskier’s sharp tongues were met with amusement instead of indignation. A few of the men spoke favorably of the victim’s ability to fell trees as quickly as he downed ale, but otherwise the consensus was clear — little was lost in his passing. The only thing that truly seemed to haunt the collective was the sight of that much blood leaving the body in exactly the wrong ways. What could have been considered tracks from the beast had enough cart wheels ran through them to make it impossible to compare.

“There’s one thing I’ll give Freya,” Jaskier said as they made their way up the coast, the sky grey, the wind tousling their hair. “Poetic sense of justice.”

“Best keep it in your breeches while you’re here, if you’re supportive of the practice,” Yennefer said as the warhorse snorted. 

Jaskier groaned. “Keep your narrative straight, dear sorceress. Are you accusing me of being a weakling or physically harming women? If you keep this up, my defense would be that the only woman I’ve ever wanted to hurt was you, and that desire is purely emotionally. I know they put a lot of effort into that face so I’d hate to destroy someone’s hard —”

“Enough!” Geralt snarled, reining Roach to a stop. He dismounted and motioned with a hand for them to follow him to the cliff’s edge. “This hen pecking and bickering is only serving to drive me insane. If your next competition is around _that_ , then I’d say the only way to gain an advantage is to try shoving me off the edge this very moment.” He held his arms out. “Any takers?”

Jaskier looked genuinely disturbed by the display. Yennefer merely raised an eyebrow. “Gods, you’re quite melodramatic lately. Especially when there’s a simple way to solve the problem.”

Geralt wanted to yell again, but it would only prove her _right,_ damn it. “That’s not a solution; it’s refusing to deal with the problem.”

Yennefer shrugged. “It means you don’t have to deal with the problem. I see no difference”

“What in Melitele’s name are you talking about, and why do I have the suspicion that it deals with _me?”_ Jaskier barked.

“I am not sending Jaskier away,” Geralt said, staring Yennefer down. 

“What exactly can he offer that either of us can’t with _Axii?”_

Bile filled Geralt’s mouth; _Axii_ was nothing he trifled with, only in matters where the bloodshed would be too cruel, that the opponents were not deserving of death and chose a foolish thing to want to die for. Smoothing the road constantly with mind manipulation only delayed further retribution. She _knew_ that, had read his thoughts countless times on the matter. The only reason to launch the question was for it to land on Jaskier.

Jaskier responded before Geralt could find words he wouldn’t regret. “Using _honey_ every so often does not dilute the potency of your poison, mage. And not every person you surround yourself with must be for utility.”

And then, Geralt felt the earth tremble. The horses started snorting and squealing. Yennefer and Geralt locked eyes for a moment before Yennefer cast a spell.

And Geralt grabbed Jaskier.


	3. The Better Of Us

Of all the things Geralt could have anticipated—earth elemental, rock trolls, maybe even a cyclops or three—he was not expecting a stampede of bears to come tearing down the hillside towards them. Careful to step away from the cliff’s edge behind him, Geralt dragged Jaskier along with one arm wrapped around his waist. He planted his feet and waited, ready to shove Jaskier behind him, if necessary.

Yennefer activated a shielding dome around them with one hand and the air shimmered with magic. At the sight of it, the bears veered to avoid it and the cliff. Masses of undulating fur in a myriad of browns rushed by them on either side, making their protective bubble feel claustrophobic. But the waves of monotonous color made the single anomaly standout like a beacon.

A lone white bear at the center of the pack continued to advance on them with no apparent intention of changing course.

Geralt’s medallion danced at his neck in warning. He saw a shudder pass through Yennefer before she pushed a second hand forward to reinforce the shield. Beside him, Jaskier’s breath came in desperate gasps and Geralt realized he’d held on to the bard too tightly. He released Jaskier just as the nose of the white bear pierced through the shield.

The bear entered the dome as if it were made of little more than gossamer and stopped two paces in front of them. Geralt drew his sword.

“Yen?” he growled between bared teeth, in hopes she might provide some aid.

“You’re on your own,” she rasped, clearly straining.

Geralt stepped slowly toward the beast, blade raised and ready to intercept an attack, but none came. The bear growled in warning at them, but came no closer. Geralt was about to take another step when a trembling hand settled gently on his arm. Jaskier was next to him, his eyes fixed on the bear.

“Wait.” Jaskier licked his lips. “J-just wait, all right?”

“Jaskier—” Geralt started to protest, but was ignored.

Jaskier timidly made his way closer with one hand outstretched in offering, fingers curled inward on something he held that smelled of cloying sweetness. Geralt wanted to yank him backwards and out of harm’s way, but noticed the bear’s snarling had abated. Once he was close enough, it thoroughly sniffed Jaskier’s hand. The bear lowed, deep and rumbling, before butting its head against the hand. 

Jaskier blew out a long sigh of relief.

“We didn’t mean to upset you,” Jaskier had lowered his head and whispered in a solemn voice. “We got carried away and let our tempers get the better of us, but we mean each other no harm. I beg your forgiveness.”

Jaskier yelped when the bear pressed forward, pushing its nose into his hair for a generous sniff before turning towards Geralt. The witcher dropped his sword on the ground without a second thought, standing stock still as the bear swept its nose past him. Seemingly satisfied, it moved on to Yennefer, who received far more than just a cursory examination. The bear sniffed her face, her hands and her chest before pulling away.

They stared in stunned silence as the bear gave them one last look before turning to amble away until it disappeared into the nearby trees, the others following behind it.

With the threat gone, Yennefer let the shield fall and Geralt immediately turned to Jaskier.

“You could’ve gotten yourself killed,” he chided, though he couldn’t keep a tone of pride from slipping between the gruffness.

“If it wanted to kill us, it would’ve tried the minute it broke through the shield.” Jaskier tried to wave him off with a casual hand, but Geralt could still see the lingering tremors and hear the unsteadiness in his voice. “You should see how many times I’ve done that with Roach whenever you leave us both behind to track down some monster or another.”

Geralt was about to ask why Jaskier thought it necessary to befriend his horse when Yennefer nudged him aside. Glaring, she pointed a long, delicate finger in his face.

“What—” she fought to catch her breath. “—the _fuck_ was that?!”

Jaskier laughed.

“Oh, did they not teach you that at Aretuza?” He placed a fist on his hip, flipped his hair out of his face, and tilted a cocky smirk at her. “Bears _love_ honey.”

A bit further down the path, they found a cave to make camp in for the night. Because Jaskier had proven himself to care about horses’ good favor, he was left to begin setting up while Geralt and Yennefer followed the trail of the bears. Night Fury was rather displeased with the prospect, but warmed up quickly when some honeycomb emerged for him as well. So well, that even though Geralt and Yennefer were out of Jaskier’s earshot, Geralt didn’t miss Jaskier yelping at getting his finger nipped. Geralt chuckled to himself as he examined the tracks.

“I can’t tell if he’s barking mad or brilliant,” Yennefer said.

“Don’t start.” There was one set of tracks that was bigger than the rest and comparable in size to the cat ones they found previously. Beyond the must and dirt there was something metallic — perhaps floral as well — that he could latch on to.

“Believe me or not, I don’t mean it as an insult, for once. Sometimes you must be a bit daft so you don’t let reservations get in your way.” 

Still crouched, he turned and raised an eyebrow. “You could tell him that, you know.”

Her arms crossed, she snorted. “Or you can.”

“Touch é .” He rose and breathed deep — there it was, something metal, something like the smell after a hard rain that he could follow into the trees. “This way.”

As they walked, for once, Yennefer vocalized her thoughts. “I’ve decided that gender-separated schools cause more long-term harm than prevent.”

“And how’s that?” Perhaps, if he just let her speak, like he did with Jaskier from time to time, he could focus.

“It doesn’t give students the opportunity to merely get to those of the other gender. They are merely an enigma or a prize to be captured. Less relatable than the spells or beasts we study.”

“You cannot possibly blame Aretuza for your dislike of Jaskier,” Geralt said as his eyes searched an upcoming bush. So much brown hair, not a strand of white.

Yennefer groaned. “If your mind is going to be back with the bard, you should have just stayed at camp. No, Geralt, I’m referring to you and I.”

Geralt felt his throat tighten. _That_ subject. “How so?” Did this bush truly catch nothing? Not even the scent strengthened near by it, as if it missed brushing it all together. Agile beast, certainly.

“It’s been years, Geralt, since you spent your last wish on me. You bound our fates with magic.”

Not a hint. He wanted to move on to the puddle ahead of them ahead, but the speed at which was preferable to him would not be to her. So he kept his pace slow, as if he were examining every blade of grass. “And?”

“And I think our dear _Freya_ has crystalized something that I’ve been thinking about for a long time. That not everything needs to end in blows.”

Geralt froze, then turned to face her. She wasn’t angry - that crease between her violet eyes wasn’t there. Her hands were merely on her hips, and every word out of her mouth came with a care he’d never heard before. “You are a dedicated man to a fault. You pursue what you believe is right, regardless if it ends bad for you. And you wanted us to be in each other’s lives forever —”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt said, trying to pick his words just as carefully. “At the time, I just —”

“Got caught up in the romance of the situation.” She shrugged. “So did I. But we didn’t know each other, really. But now we do.”

Geralt clenched a fist because there was nothing better to do. “Are you going to insist we find another djinn to remove the wish? Yen, they are rare enough as it is, not to mention dangerous —”

She held up her hand, a request. “I tire of fighting, Geralt. I am weary from every time we meet that it must be filled with implication and expectation. And… I envy Jaskier.” Her lips pursed and she pointed a finger at him. “Do _not_ tell him that or I will burn all of the hair off of your head.”

Speaking would be the death of him — he was on tenterhooks as to what that could possibly mean. And he didn’t need to verbalize his confusion; she already knew. She had so many cursed ways of knowing —

“To share a drink, to tell stories, to laugh, and to simply part knowing that the next meeting would be just the same.” She took a deep breath. “I want him and I to swap places.”

“That,” Geralt looked away for a moment to spare himself the finality in her eyes. “Even if it’s somehow possible—”

“There are a few methods we could—” Geralt held up his hand, a mirror of her own earlier request.

“You’d need to talk with him first.”

Yennefer raised a cool eyebrow. “Are you saying you’re not opposed?”

Geralt sighed. He wasn’t sure he could properly articulate either his desires or misgivings towards her proposal. There was more to it that involved… nuances that he was ill-equipped to handle. His lacking made him hesitant.

“I’m saying that you weren’t given a choice,” he began, forcing himself to look her in the eye while he did, “but that doesn’t mean the mistake should be perpetuated.”

She was, clearly, taken aback by his words. The relief of her brow held deep furrows. Her lips remained parted, poised as if she wanted to say something, but produced nothing except silence.

“By the gods, Geralt,” she breathed. “You really do care for him.”

Another sigh. He shifted further away from her and closer to the puddle. “I merely wish to live a life in which I learn from my previous errors.”

“And you don’t think he’ll jump at the chance to be bound to you for the rest of his life?”

That was exactly one of the very problematic parts that comprised the whole. He knew Jaskier’s impetuousness might throw him headfirst into accepting. Then again, he was oftentimes far more contemplative than one would expect of him. Geralt wasn’t sure which side would win out, but he knew which he’d prefer.

“I’d hope that, having witnessed how it’s affected your acquaintance with me, he’d at least pause long enough to consider his options.”

Yennefer shook her head. “As I said before, we’d only just met.”

“I know, but it’s one thing to seek out a way of undoing the wish,” he explained patiently, painfully. “It’s another to pass the burden to someone else.”

Yennefer clucked her tongue, a pitying sound that was all awkward corners and no forgiving curves. “Geralt, you do yourself a disservice. There’s no shame in wanting that which also wants you.”

The ’ _but for how long_ ’ he wished he could both voice and avoid remained trapped behind his lips. Not that it mattered around Yennefer as she’d pull it from him as easily as unwinding a bobbin. He left it unsaid, choosing instead to kneel beside the puddle and continue his search for something. Anything. He ran a gloved finger through the murky water, disappointed to find nothing out of the ordinary.

He heard Yennefer shift and move closer to him with slow, even steps.

“You do him a disservice as well, you know,” she said. “With thoughts like those.”

“My thoughts are irrelevant at the moment.” He stood, wiping the dampness of his glove off on his leggings. “All I’m finding are bare traces that are here one moment and gone the next. Yen, what could we possibly be dealing with?”

Yennefer tapped her fingers against her thigh and looked at the trees surrounding them. She pulled her lips tight for a moment before they softened and she exhaled in one long, uncertain breath.

“Perhaps we should prepare ourselves for the possibility that it actually is Freya. Back there at the cliff, I’m sure you felt it, same as I. That was strong magic. Old magic.” Yennefer paused to look over at where Jaskier was methodically brushing both horses in turns. “And your bard held it off with a bit of honeycomb and an apology.”

“He’s not my anything,” Geralt groused.

“Oh, come now,” Yennefer patronised him with a mouth that was half pout, half wry smile. “Surely he’s, at least, your friend. Maybe, with the help of an actual goddess, he could be more.”

“You are not suggesting we—”

“Geralt, from the day we first crossed paths, you should have known,” she stopped him with a derisive snort. “I never _suggest_ anything.”

By the time they returned back to camp, the sky had darkened, threatening rain. Jaskier had a respectable fire going and the horses were grazing contently. Seated on a rock and warming his hands near the flames, he looked up at them and hollered, “The hunters have returned!” He sighed. “Sadly no pelt. I was just thinking about what a glorious coat it would make.”

“I caught a scent, but the trail ended,” Geralt said, lingering too long on how the firelight danced across his face.

Jaskier bit his raw lip. “So close.” He rubbed his hands together, then blew on them.

Yennefer fished out a vial from her sleeve and offered it to him. “Take it. It’ll warm you on the inside.”

He did, but raised an eyebrow. “What else will it do?”

“Keep your mouth shut while I speak.” 

Jaskier gave Geralt a cheeky smirk before popping the cork. It took more willpower that Geralt would have hoped to keep himself from kicking the fire or pretending to hear the bears coming back. Did he really have to be _here_ while Yennefer spoke to him about this?

Yennefer fished in her sleeve again and pulled out bright white blossoms with star-shaped petals. “While Geralt was rummaging around for hair and feces, I found a _real_ clue. Meliote.”

"Why didn't you tell me?" Geralt growled.

She waved a hand, this time, a dismissal. Not worth addressing, it said. "In Aretuza, some of the older girls passed along a secret combination called _Melitele's Helper_ that used these petals and various powdered ingots to… let's say, mitigate risk from overly assertive men. Unsurprisingly, many of the males from Ban Ard have done their damndest to ensure the instructions are lost to the rest of the world. The smallest touch of dimerterium and fresh ground petals can render an older mage defenseless. However, iron, petals, and a touch of magic…"

It was hard for Geralt to retain his frustration. "Humans bleeding from every inch of skin."

Yennefer nodded. "Indeed possible. And we know the target can transform into at least two different forms, likely more. And they are filled with old, powerful magic."

“And, can be reasoned with,” Jaskier added.

Yennefer nodded. “Indeed. Therefore, I think, regardless of the name or species our dear _Freya_ is, we have little ability to to defeat it outright. But, perhaps we can barter in order to end the violence and let it leave the islands. End the vigilantism and mind it’s own business.”

“Barter what?” Jaskieir asked. “What would we ask it for to make it believe we needed them enough to end our hunt?”

Geralt braced himself.

“Altering the effects of a wish from a djinn.” She said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

Jaskier stood and scowled at Yennefer. “What? Have you tired of Geralt? Ready to lash another to you for eternity?”

She threw her hood over her head. “ _Quite_ the contrary, it is Geralt who needs a new partner in this situation. And who would be better than someone who pops back in his life at the drop of the hat? And could quite benefit from the continued protection of the witcher.” She folded her hands over the flowers. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Meliote will only grow here in greenhouses or near hot springs in Skellige. I must scan the area for potential locations it may grow.” And, as a slow roll of thunder reverberated through the cave, Yennefer slipped out of it.

Jaskier’s knuckles were white, his body shaking. “Absolute cunt. The fucking _nerve_ —”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, weakly.

“No, Geralt, no,” he snapped. “She cannot _throw you aside_ based on her wiles. I will not let her flit off and throw away _your sacrifice_ for her convenience.”

He could smell the oncoming thunderstorm in the air and he wished to be out in it than cornered here. “Flit away? This, from the person who does nothing _but_ flit from lover to lover as if it were a matter of life and death?”

“Perhaps it is!” Jaskier snarled. “I don’t get to cheat, Geralt. I don’t have magic on my side to make things work as I please. All my eyes can do is keep moving so that they don’t rest where they desire.”

Geralt cursed under his breath; softly, to avoid Jaskier interpreting it as anger directed towards him. He’d been upset with Jaskier before. Countless times, if he was honest, but not now. Now he was mostly upset with Yennefer for doing a shit job and ignoring what he recommended, but he was also mad at himself. He should have seen this coming, but he refused to prepare for it all the same.

“She was meant to discuss this with you first,” he said, settling next to Jaskier. “In private.”

“What for?” Jaskier sneered with a deprecating laugh. “So she could viciously rub it in my face without any witnesses?”

Geralt stared into the fire, trying to collect his thoughts. Still, he was at a loss as to how to address Jaskier’s—completely incorrect—assumptions. This was the whole reason he told Yennefer to handle it. Unless you were someone like Jaskier, the value of words was always halved when it came from a secondary source.

“So she could give you a choice,” he supplied.

Jaskier reeled back, frowning with confusion. “A choice for what?”

“The choice she didn’t have.” He looked away from the fire to meet Jaskier’s questioning gaze. “The choice I hadn’t given her.”

That seemed to have a more significant impact, at least. Jaskier sat up straight and folded his hands in his lap. His knees bounced up and down in an alternating pattern. Geralt waited.

“Are you saying that she—that I—” Jaskier shook his head and ran a frantic hand through his hair. “No, this is either a hallucination or the bear actually killed me and the afterlife decided this would be a hilarious joke to play at my expense.”

“Jaskier—” he pleaded.

Jaskier shook his head and the bouncing increased in intensity. “No, I’m sorry. I cannot—I _will_ not—accept half-sentences in the hopes that subtext guides me to the right conclusion. Now is not the time for flimsy metaphors. Not from you. Speak plainly, Geralt, I know you’re more than capable.”

“Yennefer wants to alter the wish I made to the djinn.” He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his knees. “By binding your fate to mine in her stead.”

For once, in all the years he’d known him, Jaskier was at a loss for words. And no djinn magic was involved. His mouth opened and closed. His knees went completely still and, instead, he began to rock back and forth. 

And then he shook his head.

“Absolutely not,” Jaskier said, his voice quiet but unyielding. “I’m not letting her lash me to your side simply because she tires of you and I’m a convenient stand-in.”

Geralt’s anger towards Yennefer grew by the second, completely overshadowing any misgivings he had towards himself. All of this would have been better solved had she actually listened to him for once. Because, now, Jaskier was refusing solely out of spite.

“Jaskier, it isn’t like that.”

“Then what is it like, Geralt?” Jaskier demanded, eyes glistening. “Go on, indulge me.”

Geralt looked at the ground where the outlines of his muddied boots left their imprints. This was part of the reason people liked to assume witchers were devoid of feelings. Because they were an inherently messier affair to deal with than hunting even the most dangerous monster. The behavior of monsters was predictable enough that it could be covered in a few paragraphs in a bestiary. The behavior of humans, well, even the largest library hadn’t the capacity to fully encompass it.

“Is being bound to me really that objectionable?” He hadn’t meant to phrase it that way and it ended up sounding horridly manipulative. But the words came out before he could stop them.

“No. No, of course not,” Jaskier softened, making Geralt feel guiltier. “If your life were in danger, I would do it without hesitation. But I see the resignation in both of you whenever you and Yennefer meet. You know that it isn’t just a happy coincidence that brought you together. You know the meeting was forced, preordained, and that dulls the shine of it.” Jaskier shifted uneasily. “I don’t ever want you to look at me that way, Geralt, and I certainly wouldn’t want to do that to you, either.”

Geralt’s sigh was both softer and quieter than the relief he actually felt.

“When Yen suggested it, I told her to confer with you. I wasn’t about to force you into it,” he admitted. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“I appreciate the consideration, Geralt, but you’ve only focused on what Yennefer wants.” Jaskier scooted closer and laid a hand on his arm. “What do _you_ want?”

Geralt took a slow breath. “I want you to look as favorably upon me as you did the day we first met. Without coercion, without obligation. But, most importantly, I want you to be happy, Jaskier.” The strength of his voice tapered off into a near-whisper. “Even if it’s without me.”

“Then you’re a fool.” Jaskier’s laugh was all dismissal and no mirth. “I’m never happy without you.”

“So, have I left you two long enough for you to kiss and make up?”

They both startled at the sight of Yennefer sweeping back into the cave without warning.

“No.” Jaskier cast a sulky glower her way. “Perhaps you should try leaving again. But, this time, don’t bother returning.”

She brushed his comment off like the water from her cloak. “No matter. You can save it for whatever celebratory banquet they hold in our honor. I’ve got us a lead, gentlemen. We have work to do.”

With an outstretched hand, a portal ripped open. A wave of the other hand placed a barrier around the horses. Geralt’s stomach was already rolling when Jaskier gave his arm a squeeze. “Hey, on the other side of that portal, we might get to meet a god. That doesn’t happen every day, does it?”


	4. The Likes of Him

Geralt groaned and they all slipped into the portal. The air was humid and thick with the smell of flowers, but he was able to find the metallic undercurrent. There was no doubt in his mind that this was Freya’s lair.

“Well, if this is how her believers worship, sign me up,” Jaskier said as he drank in the splendor of the natural hot spring. Tucked away in a steep, small valley, the massive pools were surrounded with wildflowers, Meliote included. A small, quaint hut sat on the far left of the valley, an altar next to that. Geralt’s medallion hummed, but not near with the intensity as it did face to face with the white bear. 

“She’s not here,” Geralt said. 

“Of course she’s not,” Yennefer said, already headed toward the hut. “It’d be foolish to just drop in without evaluating the surroundings first.”

“You pick strange times to do your due diligence,” Geralt said, then looked to Jaskier for support. 

However, Jaskier had already made his way to one of the pools and dipped his hands in the water. “Ahhh, oh that’s good,” he moaned. “Yes, yes I can feel my fingers once again.” 

Geralt suppressed a sigh. “I asked you to speak to Jaskier first, why did you ignore me?”

While she sorted through the vials and bowls on the altar, her voice picked up a high falsetto. _“Oh Yennefer, I fancy a boy from Ban Ard, but I don’t know if he fancies me back! You are close with Istredd, can you ask him if Alden likes me back?”_ Then, dropped it. “Please. I’ve spent most of my formative years dealing with what happens when nobles of all sorts don’t speak with their spouses. My intervention would only create more distrust in that regard.”

The humidity was starting to make his thoughts spin. He looked to Jaskier.

Jaskier shrugged. “She’s not wrong. And I still... “ He stood and wiped his warmed hands on his doublet. “What do you want from us, Geralt? Pretend Freya is the kindest, most benevolent being in the world that only wishes to make one of her children happy. How does,” He pointed to himself, to Geralt, to Yennefer. “This work? Plainly, where does your heart lie?”

“Yes, plainly,” a song-like voice echoed through the valley. Geralt’s medallion began to vibrate more steadily, but even his keen eyes couldn’t spy where the sound originated. “But first, explain; why have you invaded my home?”

“By the god... dess,” Jaskier stammered and stumbled, nearly falling into the springs.

A large, white cat stood where Yennefer’s portal once had, surveying them with piercing green eyes. Slowly, it stalked towards them. With each step, it became increasingly less cat and more human until a woman stood before them. Shining auburn hair hung past her breasts, brushing the top of the swell of her stomach beneath her robes and a brilliant jewel hung from her neck. Her eyes swept over each of them in turn.

“I suppose I should have expected that a witcher and a sorceress would try to seek me out,” her voice was sweet and lilting as she spoke. She moved closer to Jaskier and placed a pale hand on his cheek. “But you, dear one, what brings you here?”

“He’s with me,” Geralt answered.

She turned to look at him, a soft smile played across her lips. “Yes, I suppose they both are, are they not? The mage’s tethers have all the force of iron shackles, but his are like the finest silken thread.” She paused, her lips turning down in thought. “And, yet, there is a third far from here. Flowing ribbons stretching across the sea.”

Geralt said nothing and, wisely, so did Jaskier. The former wanted to avoid insulting a goddess—if she truly was one, he still had his doubts—with a poor choice of words. The latter, well, Geralt hoped it was for the same reason. Yennefer, however, took no such precaution. She approached Freya without hesitation or pretense.

“You can see the bonds,” she declared. “Does that mean you can also change them?”

“I can,” the goddess confirmed, a hint of warning in her tone. “But only if those bound want it to be changed. I do not allow unilateral decisions.”

This failed to disconcert Yennefer and she only stepped closer. “Then I would like for the binding of my fate and Geralt’s to be undone.”

“And you, Witcher?” Freya turned to regard him. “Is that what you want as well?”

“My only intention at the time was to save her life but the arrangement has disquieted us both,” he chose his words as carefully as he dared. “I don’t want her to suffer for a decision I made without her consent.”

Freya seemed to accept this and hummed lightly. “And your beloved bard, what of him?”

“What—what of me?” Jaskier jumped, eyes darting nervously this way and that. “Yes, what of me?”

“Do you wish to affect your bond with him as well?” Freya continued.

Geralt shook his head. “No. The bond we share, I’d rather we remake it under our own power. He should be free to choose me.” Geralt looked over at Jaskier, who had calmed and stared back at him with wide eyes. “As I was free to choose him.”

“Very well,” Freya nodded in approval.

She placed both hands in the space between Geralt and Yennefer, seemingly gripping at nothing, but they could hear her take hold of something leaden. A slight grimace passed over her face as she slowly drew her hands apart. The screech of metal against metal filled the air and pulled Geralt’s face into a wince.

Then, there was a release as if a tightness he never noticed within him had sprung free. He heard Yennefer sigh in relief but his eyes never strayed from Jaskier.

“Now, on to the next order of business,” Yennefer tried to clear the tremble in her voice as she spoke. “It seems your involvement in the recent deaths in Skellige have roused the concern of its citizens.”

Freya’s gaze dropped and she looked sorrowful, but not ashamed.

“My children are not to be used. They are not to be betrayed and they are, above all, not to be harmed outside of their own choosing,” she explained. “But a goddess helps only those who help themselves and I provided aid because it was requested. I see that my aid has caused a bit of alarm and it may indeed be time for me to choose subtlety instead. Had the others approached me in the proper manner befitting my station, I would have known it sooner.”

“Anja,” Geralt said in realization, looking again at Freya.

“But the druids said it was too dangerous to send her to Hindar right now,” Jaskier added.

“That, I believe, does not require the intervention of a goddess. Wouldn’t that be more suited for a witcher and, maybe, even a sorceress?”A knowing smile curled Freya’s lips. “Consider it an adequate repayment for my services.”

* * *

“She conjured me a horse!” Jaskier said as they rode and patted his steed, a bright white mare with fiery eyes. “How does that not make her a deity?”

Yennefer, who was riding next to him on Night Fury, said, “The horse emerged and walked in. It could very easily have been that she merely _summoned_ the horse. One that she had found in her many years and lulled to her valley.”

“Yes, and she summoned this exquisite saddle and pack as well,” Jaskier said derisively, but the smile hadn’t left his face since they left the valley. “Face it, Yennefer. Her magic is beyond yours exponentially. I could smell her rending the djinn’s magic!”

“It was always theoretically possible,” Yennefer sniffed. “I merely haven’t had as much time to find power sources as deep as that old fossil of a druid has.”

Geralt felt lighter and more unsteady as ever. One thing he could count on for so many years was that, like a compass, he could always find her. That as long as he felt that pull, he knew she was out there. Now, things felt impossibly fragile, their romantic disentanglement notwithstanding. And Yennefer and Jaskier’s conversation had the cadence of an argument without the heat. He grunted a warning.

Yennefer and Jaskier looked back at him — because _they_ were leading and the road wasn’t wide enough for three — and they smiled smugly in tandem. Yennefer said, “Don’t tell me Kaer Morhen was so dull that you and your brothers didn’t debate the nature of gods? Or was normal taxonomy as riveting as it got?”

“Come now, Yennefer, this conversation typically occurs over alcohol either smuggled or distilled in the school itself,” Jaskier said. “Perhaps we save it until we have completed our mission and find a tavern?”

“Very well. But I shall spend the rest of our travels using the criteria you have outlined and plan my ascension to godhood in your eyes.” Her eyes sparkled as she laid the challenge.

“Please, Yennefer, please, I’ve already collected enough material for a year’s worth based on this adventure alone. The mad climb to being worshiped is too much right now, have mercy!” He clutched his chest.

Silk could resist arrows, that he knew. But it stained, it slipped, and it was all too fine for the likes of him. There were things he and Jaskier needed to discuss, but how he could even begin to articulate those questions _with his own mouth_ made him nearly as sick as the portal they had jumped back through to retrieve Roach and Night Fury. He hated it when Yennefer read his mind, but he seriously considered the idea of trying to get either her or Freya to give Jaskier the gift, just for a little while. Just one last shortcut.

“What say you, Geralt?” Yennefer asked with a pressing look that told him she had been rifling through his thoughts. “God, self-important polymorphic druid, or something else entirely?”

“She’s powerful. She feels an obligation to help, even us, without reservation. She didn’t attack on sight. She helped us.” He nodded to himself, feeling comfort in the process of analysis. “So we help her. Besides, Anja did not seem pleased with her current arrangements.”

Yennefer narrowed her eyes, then looked to Jaskier. “Ale won’t cut it. We’ll need to get him something stronger to get a good debate out of him.”

The remainder of their adventure together flew by far too quickly for his liking. Upon returning to the druids, Anja was gratefully left in the care of Geralt and Jaskier. Yennefer vowed to go ahead to Hindarsfjall and prepare the way for them and disappeared through a portal without another word. Thus, Geralt had to endure the stifling uncertainty between him and Jaskier while also protecting the girl the entire way to the coast to meet with the boat that had been chartered for the safe passage of Freya’s Chosen.

It was the longest boat ride of Geralt’s life, mostly due to the looks he exchanged with the bard that all at once said too much and not nearly enough. Even Anja noticed and would look warily between the two. She said nothing until they’d docked at Larvik. Once they were, again, on solid ground, she pulled the witcher aside and hissed her counsel into his ear.

“You need only trust in the honesty that lies within you. The rest will follow.”

Oddly enough, Geralt felt relieved.

Yennefer met them in Larvik and, after taking one look between Jaskier and Geralt, she shook her head. She ushered Anja through the village, giving her precise directions to the temple. Apparently, the final segment of her trip was to be completed alone. The head priestess would be expecting her to arrive unaccompanied. Geralt gave the mage a dubious look after Anja expressed her thanks and waved her farewells.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” Yennefer said, brushing his concern aside. “I’ve set up enough wards that’ll take down an ice giant if needed. She’ll be fine.”

Considering how exhausted she looked, he was inclined to believe her.

“So, what are your plans?”

“Geralt of Rivia, don’t you _dare_ try to proposition me when Jaskier is standing right over there,” Yennefer tried to admonish, but her smile gave her away.

Lucky for him, Jaskier was preoccupied with watching an elderly woman clean a basket of wool.

“You know what I meant,” he grumbled.

“I do indeed.” Yennefer’s smile softened. “Just because we’re no longer bound by fate, doesn’t mean I’ll disappear off the face of the continent. We’ll just have to resort to more traditional methods of keeping in touch from now on. But, as for your question, I’m headed back to Kaer Trolde to finalize our rewards.”

Geralt hummed. “ _Our_ rewards?”

“We were hired separately,” she reminded him. “But don’t worry, I promise to convince Crach to give you the greater share of the coin. You’ll need it to keep your lover in the lifestyle to which he’s become accustomed.”

He let out a huff at her jibe.

“You should stay on Hindarsfjall until tomorrow at least,” she suggested. “Maybe even have a romantic picnic outside Freya’s Garden?”

“Yen,” Geralt growled in warning.

“I’d love to see Freya’s Garden,” Jaskier butt in without either of them realizing he’d moved closer. “Geralt, can we?”

Not trusting himself to say the appropriate thing, Geralt only nodded.

“I suppose that’s my cue to leave, then,” Yennefer announced, opening a portal. “Farewell for now, Geralt. Jaskier, it’s been… an experience.”

“Oh, get over yourself, witch,” Jaskier teased. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Quite a short list, that,” she snorted. “I’ll take it under advisement.”

“Take care of yourself, Yen,” Geralt added.

She haughtily tossed her dark curls over one shoulder and smiled. “Always have.”

With that, she was gone.

“Well, I think we deserve a drink,” Jaskier exhaled, placing his hands on his hips. “And I deserve the compelling conclusion to our conversation.”

“Which one?” Geralt asked, a facetious tilt to his lips that caused Jaskier to laugh.

“The only one that matters.”

* * *

They’d settled into a quiet corner of the only tavern in Larvik with one tankard each. Geralt wondered how many times they’d sat together, exactly like this. It felt frightening, familiar, and fitting. They were exactly where they were supposed to be.

“So, haven’t you got anything to say to me?” Jaskier broke him out of his reverie.

Freya, give him strength.

“Jaskier, I’d already considered your companionship as more than I deserved. Anything greater than that would not be something I can navigate with confidence.” He paused, remembering Anya’s words. “But I’d still like the chance to.”

And across from him, Jaskier beamed.


	5. The Mettina Rosé

Yennefer liked to fancy herself as someone who did as her will commanded, but for the longest time, it was simply not true. As a child, the chaos of her heart ruled. After her ascension, it was kings. After her abandonment of those kings, chaos ruled again, all except a particular corner of her heart where a witcher lived. The function of the wish proved a tether she could anchor herself to, a semblance of something she could call home. 

However when she returned to it, let the tug of it take her back, the djinn yanked. Her and Geralt collided and then ricocheted off of one another. And then in time, home, a place with someone who had seen her at her worse and chose to stay, became only a precursor to disappointment. 

All her romantic encounters were a precursor to disappointment, even the ones with Geralt, so she decided that she might as well get what she wanted in the meantime. But now, that inevitability wasn't there. Now, endings were of her own choosing. 

She had left Night Fury with Crach, with a promise that she would return from time to time to ride with him. Surprising even herself, within the coming months, she fulfilled that promise. Crach was busy raising heirs and taming clans so this arrangement suited them both well. She had her own affairs to tend to, and those were whatever intrigued her at the time… and they often had a philanthropic bent. Just because their bond had been broken didn't mean Geralt’s impact had disappeared. 

Her latest adventure was purely self-indulgent. A masked ball at the Vegelbud estate would be full of beautiful outfits, flowing wine, and nobles in need of embarrassing problems being fixed. Yes, those problems were ridiculous and self-inflicted, but profitable in coin and intel, both of which were essential for a rainy day. 

Besides, something told her that she would rather enjoy the company that attended. 

As she walked the palatial estate in a dark blue, flowing gown and peacock mask, the music (and, admittedly, the Mettina rosé) filled her with a warmth she hadn't felt in a long time. The lyrics were bawdy, yes but the voice behind them was what mattered. 

Even surrounded by supporting musicians, and with adoration of many of the guests, Jaskier's expression brightened all the more when he saw her. She chuckled to herself, then spotted the unmistakable mass of man in a wolf mask flanked by two blathering nobles in doublets that the sight of alone would make Geralt uncomfortable. She made her way to him.

"Sirs, I do apologize, but I have urgent business to attend to with the witcher." The nobles excused themselves. 

Geralt exhaled. "Thank you."

She tugged at his puffy sleeve. "Goodness, he has you wrapped around his finger tighter than this fabric."

Geralt grunted. "Part of his business. Have to take turns. Besides, it's easier to find accommodations when you're with a well-known bard."

Yennefer hummed. "So I assume that means things are going well?" 

He smiled softly. Then, said, "There are adversities from time to time. As of now, I'm trying to find a way to get him into Toussaint. Apparently he and the duchess were involved and he fears the duke’s wrath might catch up with him."

The wheels in her head started turning. "For business or pleasure?"

Geralt shrugged. "One often leads to the other." 

She tapped her chin. "I may be able to smooth things out for him. But, it won't be easy." It would, three letters and an appearance at a horse race, but it wouldn't do to let the boys get greedy. "I'll need a promise in return."

"What is it?" he asked with a tone of warning. As a server walked past with a tray of mead, he grabbed one of the goblets. 

"I long for some entertainment while wintering this year. The two of you, join me with my companion."

Geralt chuckled. "Where and who?" 

Yennefer grinned. "To be determined. Both of them."

As the song ended, the guests clapped. Jaskier held up a hand and said, "Gentlefolk, you are too kind. My heart is nigh bursting and the night has barely begun! Please, allow me the indulgence of slowing things down. Grab someone dear to you or go frolic in the maze, as I wish to muse upon the beautiful Elaine."

The first soft, slow notes of _Elaine Ettariel_ drifted over the garden, Jaskier stretching each one taut with pure emotion. Yennefer chuckled. "Does he serenade you in private as well?"

"None of your business." 

He drank, but the way his mind flickered for half a moment told her volumes. So, too, did the barely perceptible wink from a certain singing bard.

"Do you write him poetry as well? Or is your appreciation more of a series of grunts in various pitches?" When she reached out to his mind for the answer, all she saw was an image of Jaskier's pert, pasty ass. She slapped Geralt's arm. "You _sneak!_ Had you prepared yourself to thwart my prying?"

"Jaskier's idea," Geralt said with a rumble of a laugh. 

"This winter will be entertaining, indeed." 

"If you get us into Toussaint," Geralt said. 

"Consider it done." She clinked her goblet against his. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear this fic was supposed to be more shenanigans. We were TRYING to be up to no good. *sigh* There's always next time...


End file.
